Heads… or tails?


In writing the book I am forced to
retrace my steps and to go over information already received… While I recall
most of it, there are times when I read something and hindsight plugs the holes
left originally by innocent ignorance.

I am talking about Charley’s wedding
ring. Suffice it to say that most of the blood on Charley’s hands that night- especially
the exterior of his hands -was not there by his personal manipulation. Two things
happened that caused two other people to place blood there.

One thing-
the firing of the second gun that night to establish nitrate. The shot that went through the
underside of Charley’s chin… the magic bullet that was identified in the GBI
report through ballistics on page two as not matching the other bullet from his skull.

The problem with that? Hmmmm… two bullets pulled from the victim, one gun… but only
page one of the report was ever made public! Page two was somehow mysteriously  removed from the file. Wonder how
much that cost them? Hmmmm…

Then there was the other reason why
there was gratuitous blood on Charley’s fingers. Now let me think…

Oh come on, Grim. You
can help me with this one. You and ______________ couldn’t get Charley’s
wedding ring off his hand. G wanted it off his finger.  You tried, but Charley just wouldn’t cooperate! Boy that must have pissed you all off something fierce! After
all, how the hell were you supposed to support your theory about Charley and G
having a love affair if the guy wouldn’t give up his wedding ring… even in

So…you and the two others moved the body, placed the flashlight and the hat, moved the car, took the photos…

Is that why the two of you had
to go home and take a bath? You and good ole_______________. Yeah… I know
about the two of you, ‘first responders’ and what you did. Who wears a hat to
his own funeral? Silly boys! You just watched too many cop and robber films when you were growing up. You
really screwed this one up big time though, Grim. And then of course there was the farmer? If you don’t want people
to know you’re involved… then why call his house that night and leave your
own name?

You know…

A diary is a wonderful thing and
most folks always assume that only little girls with teenage crushes and Barbie
Doll dreams keep them. But Hazel was no Barbie Doll dreamer… she was a full grown
woman who had her life ripped out of her hands and she did a damn fine job of
recording every detail and nuance about how it happened and who she thought was involved. She did real good for a rookie, but she didn’t have what I have. She had details and background from the entire year of 1966… but I have Charley and R and M and R and B and H and a whole lot of other dead folks just dying… again… to tell me things they regret they didn’t have the guts, to tell folks in life. Karma’s a bitch!

Boy you better
start figuring out how you’re gonna answer some of these questions when they come knockin on your door! You say you
wiped his face with toilet paper, Grim? Charley says it was with your sleeve. Guess
that’s why you had to go home and change! And, _________________? Well, he had
to go home and change too. Didn’t look good showing up to a crime scene with
the victims blood already on your clothes. Besides… rumor has it he vomited all
over hisself anyway, because he couldn’t believe you and H really went through
with it. Not enough moonshine in the world to cover that guilt, is there?

So Grim… feeling a little froggy?
You better jump boy and jump fast. Time is a wastin, and I have lost my
patience! Confess soon or this will be all over the newspapers and it won’t
matter what your story was anymore. Your counselor is dead and gone. He cannot
protect you from this anymore than he will be able to save his own name from
shame. All those pretty pictures and all those pretty words about how he helped
the little people… what a pity.

Over 46 years ago you all rewrote
the history of southern Georgia and murdered my dear friend Charley.
Not long from now, I will rewrite your history and those who were with you that night.
Wanna know how?

Let’s play a little game. Heads you loose… tails, you loose! Hah! I’m just kidding… but serioously Grim. Either way… I win.

So let’s flip a coin, shall we?! You know, just
the way you did over Roxanne’s beaten body to figure out  which one of the four in flannel got to finish her
off. Who goes first, Grim? C’mon, let’s play…


Heads… or

I will always win! I gotcha boy… gotcha by the short hairs!

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